Where Are We?
by FraidyCat
Summary: NOT a sequel. Brother angst. Charliecentric, Eppes Relationships
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Where Are We? **

**Author: FraidyCat**

**Genre: Drama, Angst**

**Time line: Now, sort-of. Get jiggy wid it.**

**Summary: Taking a whole new train here – come along for the ride!**

**Disclaimer: Don't own 'em – but wanna cuddle 'em.**

**Chapter 1**

This time, when Charlie flopped from his side to his back, he managed to kick all the covers off the bed, using one foot. Don stopped his inspection of the north wall and approached thin mattress on the floor where his brother slept. Patiently — and carefully, because his own head still throbbed — he extricated the sheet from the pile of bedding, shook it, and lay it over Charlie. He was careful not to touch the swollen and discolored right foot, but simply folded the sheet it around it.

His brother radiated heat, and Don didn't need a thermometer to tell him that Charlie had a fever. He decided the sheet would be enough for now. He lowered himself to the floor, brushed some sweaty dark curls away from the lump on Charlie's temple. It was growing dark, but he could see the bruising. At least the skin wasn't broken, maybe that was a good thing. Don didn't really think it was, though, because Charlie wouldn't wake up.

A critical eye took in the rest of his brother's injuries. What happened to his foot? How did he ever get here on that foot? Don didn't remember helping him. Don didn't remember getting here himself. He had no idea where "here" even was.

His eyes took in the tattered, soiled, blood-stained makeshift bandage on his brother's right arm. He wanted to get a look at what was under there, but he was afraid. He didn't have any other bandage, unless he started ripping up the sheets…and they didn't look all that clean, themselves. Besides, it had obviously bled — a lot — and he didn't want to get it started again with no way to stop it. His eyes tore themselves away again to search the room.

It seemed large enough, maybe 20 x 20. Nothing on the floor except two thin mattresses, one of which he had woken up on, with a headache, maybe an hour before. He didn't really know, because his watch was gone. He didn't seem to have any head injuries, either, so he wasn't sure about the headache. Well, he was sure he had it, just wasn't sure why. The light in the room was coming through a skylight in an impossibly high ceiling. Don guessed it was at least 20 feet high, as well. They appeared to be in a very large, perfectly square cube. He had been around the walls three times already. First quickly, each subsequent time more slowly. There had to be a door. How else would they have gotten in here? But for the life of him, Don couldn't find a door. He looked up at the skylight. Could they have been lowered through there? He couldn't see any way to open it, from here. It didn't look big enough for a man, though —especially not limp, unconscious ones.

Charlie shivered in his sleep. How could someone so hot to the touch shiver? Don decided to add one of the thin blankets over his brother. Sitting back on his haunches, he cautiously reached out a hand and touched the foot. He wasn't sure what he was afraid of — he wanted Charlie to wake up, after all. But he didn't want to hurt him, and that looked like it should hurt. To his surprise, the foot seemed cool, and a new worry worked its way in. He hoped there wasn't decreased blood flow to that foot. Maybe it was because he had left it uncovered; the room was chilly. He decided to go ahead and cover it with the sheet. He was going to leave the blanket off, but it was such a light blanket, and he didn't seem to be getting any response from Charlie anyway, so he draped it over his foot as well. He wished there were something in here he could use as a splint. He knew that if they were here very much longer, he would have to start moving that leg around for Charlie, make sure the blood was flowing. He hoped they wouldn't be here much longer, though,

His head was getting fuzzy again as he crawled up towards Charlie's arm. He was really worried about things he couldn't see. Even sleeping — or maybe unconscious would be a more accurate term — Charlie was holding the arm close to his side, as if he wanted to protect it. Don's eyes went back to Charlie's face. The bruise on his temple, the eyes drawn together in pain. Don's hand was shaking — he didn't really know why — as he carefully laid a palm on his brother's forehead. Hot. Don remembered…he remembered…something. Charlie coming by the office to help, when he'd called, but hoarse and fighting a cold even then. When was that? How long had he made his brother, who already wasn't feeling well, stay at the office?

A sigh he wasn't expecting escaped him. He looked at Charlie for another long moment, then up to the southeast corner of the room, where a video camera hung a few inches from the ceiling. He looked directly at it, hoped that whoever was watching them was sitting on the other side of the camera right now. "Please," he said to the lens. "He's sick. Help him."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Megan sat across from Alan Eppes at his kitchen table. She touched his hand lightly, then turned back to her notes. "Tell us one more time, the whole day. Maybe we're missing something."

The older man sighed, rubbed his chin. "Fine. Charlie got up late, skipped breakfast. He said he felt like he might be coming down with something, but he went to Cal Sci anyway. It's the week before finals, and his office hours between classes are always jam-packed with students in the beginnings of panic."

"That explains why he couldn't come right away when Don called," interjected Colby.

"Right," seconded Megan. "Don called to ask for his help right after lunch, but Charlie couldn't get there until almost 4:30."

"I thought he might come home early," mused Alan, "but when he didn't I figured he must be feeling better."

"Didn't look too hot when he got to us," Colby said, then regretted his candor at Alan's blanch. He decided to change the subject. "When did you leave the house?"

"Around 4. My book club had planned an evening in the city. H. Ster, the author of the book we have been reading, had an appearance at a bookstore last evening. Autographing books, giving a short talk, answering questions, you know…". At the blank look on Colby's face, he added, "well, maybe you don't. Anyway, we all decided to go to dinner first. I had my cell with me the entire evening, didn't hear from anyone. I didn't get home until almost 10."

Megan checked her notes. "And there are nine people in the book club?"

"Ten, actually. We keep the group small on purpose, to give everyone a chance at participating each week…anyway, only nine went last night. That must be where you got that number."

"Who was absent?"

"Rosa Marimot. Shame, because she's the one who chose this book, I'm sure she would have enjoyed the evening."

"Do you know why she wasn't there?", Colby asked.

"I understand her brother had heart surgery yesterday. That's the scuttle I was hearing, anyway." Alan sounded slightly confused.

"You didn't believe that?"

"Oh, no," he hastened to clarify. "I know that she has a brother with heart problems. He's had surgery before. It just surprised me that she hadn't called me herself."

Megan and Colby exchanged a look. Megan lost the staring contest. "Are you two close?", she finally asked.

Alan blushed slightly. "Not like that. We've never gone out…although she expressed some interest, earlier. I told her that I wasn't ready to start dating yet, and we agreed to be friends. We probably speak on the phone once a week, besides seeing each other at the club. She's the Secretary this year, and I was just elected President a few months ago…most of our conversations are club-related. Planning this event, for example."

"So you're home at 10," Colby redirected the conversation. "Did you see Charlie then?"

"No. There were no lights on when I got home, and I didn't see his backpack downstairs anywhere. I was surprised that he started the day feeling so lousy and ended up making it such a long one. I was just about to call his cell when…" He looked at Megan. "When you called. What happened after Charlie got to the office?"

Megan sat back in the chair, crossed her arms. "I heard Don say, 'You okay, Charlie? You don't look so good.', and I looked up from the files I was working on to see him standing at Don's desk. I didn't really hear an answer."

"Probably because he didn't have much of a voice," volunteered Colby. "Don got us all back to the conference room, and was presenting the case. The few times I heard Charlie ask questions, it was obvious he was working on laryngitis."

Megan took up the tale again. "Right. He also wasn't concentrating very well. It was already almost 5, and the third time he asked Don to repeat the same thing, Don looked at the clock and stopped the briefing. He asked Charlie if he could come in early, today, before class, for an early briefing instead, and Charlie nodded, so he told us all to get a good night's rest and come in fresh this morning."

"Did Don take Charlie home, then?" wondered Alan.

"I heard him offer to," said Colby. "Well, more than an offer, I guess. He said, 'I'm taking you home, Buddy.'" Colby suddenly grinned, and both Megan and Alan looked at him quizzically. "It was kind-of funny," he said. "Charlie started to protest that he needed to get back to campus and finish writing an exam, and Don actually ripped his backpack off his shoulder, handcuffed it to the chair of his desk. He said if Charlie wanted it back in time for class today, he'd have to go home, go to bed, and show up for the early briefing."

Alan smiled. "I'm sure that went over well."

"Actually," Colby continued, "he didn't put up that big of a fight. That probably convinced Don he should take him right home more than anything else."

"At least we've got the backpack," Megan interjected. "Maybe we'll find something in it…"

Alan rose from the table stiffly, brought the coffee pot back to refill everyone's cup.

"If the SUV wasn't found until 9:00," he said, "where were they for four hours?"

"We don't know how long it was down in that ravine," Megan reminded him.

He sat down again. "Or why it was on that road to begin with. It's isolated, nowhere near here."

"But not that isolated," Colby said. "If it was just an accident, why didn't they stay near the SUV, wait for help?"

Alan lowered his face to his hands. His voice was muffled, anxious. "Where are my boys now?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Early morning sun filtered through the skylight. Shivering, Don woke up on the floor. He remembered lying his aching head down for just a moment on the edge of Charlie's mattress. His own seemed too far away, suddenly, and anyway, it was just for a moment. Now, his body told him that he had been huddled here, shivering, in the space between the two mattresses, for longer than a few moments. He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed them, forced himself to stretch his back and legs, counted the pops and creaks. He didn't really want to open his eyes, again.

When he did, he started in surprise. There had been several additions to the room during the night. He forced himself up, went to the west wall to investigate. He'd have to look at this wall again, later. If this is where something was left, maybe there was a door here after all. Reaching the corner, he found a 5-gallon bucket; empty save for the roll of toilet paper inside it. Don guessed he knew what that was for. On the floor next to it was a smaller bucket, full of many things. He sat down, feeling strangely excited. He pulled them out one-by-one: Two liter bottles of water. One smaller bottle of water. About 20 small alcohol wipe packets. A roll of gauze. Trial-sized bottle of pain reliever. Most unexpected of all — a urinal. Don was confused. He'd thought the large bucket…then he remembered Charlie. Whoever was holding them thought of Charlie not being able to walk. Gave them water (although no food, he thought, as his stomach grumbled a little), some medical supplies, mattresses and blankets…this was a strangely civilized kidnapping.

Don stood again, retrieved the roll of paper from the larger bucket and was surprised to see a lid for it leaning on the wall behind. He made use of the bucket, firmly capped the lid. He hoped that would help with odor. Who knew how long it — or they — would be here. He tore open one of the alcohol wipe packets, then, cleaned his hands as well as he could. Then he put all the other items back in the smaller bucket and carried it over to Charlie's mattress.

His brother was still on his back, and all the covers were kicked off again. Don sat on the edge of the mattress, unpacked again. "Charlie?" He leaned over to touch his brother's hot forehead, wasn't surprised that there was no answer. He counted out the packets. He didn't want to waste them, he didn't know if any more would appear…but he didn't want to subject Charlie to any more germs, either, so he tore open another one, cleaned his hands again.

He gingerly picked up Charlie's right arm, found the end of the ragged bandage, began to pull it off. He was immediately assailed with the stench of infection, and he hurridly threw the rag in the empty bucket while he twisted Charlie's arm a little to get a better look. The wound was jagged, and he thought he saw glass still in it. It was red, swollen, and oozed both blood and a thin yellow pus. Don awkwardly moved the smaller bucket onto the bed, held Charlie's arm over it. He twisted the top off of the small bottle of water with his teeth, and then tried to irrigate the wound as best he could. He was glad to hear a "plunk" on the bottom of the bucket, figured something must have come out of there. When the water was gone, he decided to use the sheet at his feet as a towel of sorts, and pushed it up onto the mattress so that he could lay Charlie's arm there. Then he ripped open several alcohol packets, lined them up so that he could grab one at a time. Gritting his teeth, he first cleaned the arm around the wound. Charlie moaned a little, but there was no other response until Don used a fresh pad on the wound itself. Charlie suddenly shouted, "No!" while his arm jerked back out of Don's hand, and he tried to push away with his feet. There was a yelp when he tried to use his foot, then he tried instead to turn away.

"Charlie!" Don pressed down on both shoulders to keep his brother still. "Wake up! Look at me!"

Finally Charlie's eyes did open, glassy and filled with pain.

"Donnie?" His voice was barely a whisper.

"Hang on, Buddy, let me finish this." Don took his arm again, looked at the cleaner wound. "You're hurt, Charlie, and it's infected. Can you hang on? I need to clean some of this infection out."

Charlie just looked at him. "What?"

Don decided to distract him. "What do you remember, Charlie?", he asked, at the same time that he pressed hard on the area around the wound, expressing more blood and yellow fluid onto the sheet that was now ruined. Charlie tried to jerk his arm back again, but this time Don was ready, and he held on while he watched his brother's face. Charlie looked at him wildly for a moment — Don wasn't even sure he recognized him — then he saw his eyes roll back, and he was unconscious again. Scared, Don decided to leave him that way while he finished taking care of his arm. After using several more pads, Don finally placed a new one directly over the wound, and began to wind the roll of gauze around Charlie's arm. He reached the end of the roll and managed to tear the strip of gauze vertically for several inches, so that he could tie the bandage. Then he cleaned up, taking everything over to the bigger bucket in the corner. He left the soiled sheet lying on the floor behind the bucket. He opened one more wipe and cleaned his hands again. Only five left now.

Once back at Charlie's mattress, Don opened one of the larger bottles of water and took a sip. Then he dribbled a few drops onto Charlie's forehead. His brother lurched, and his eyes popped open again. While they flew around the room, trying to get his bearings, Don ripped open another packet. He managed to tear this pad in half, leaving part of it in the package. The rest he used to cool his brother's hot face. "You with me, now?" he asked gently, taking his hand away.

Aslight nod.

"Do you…do you need to go to the bathroom?"

Charlie's face seemed to become even more miserable, once he was reminded of his own needs. "I don't think I can," he finally whispered, embarassed.

Don picked up the urinal. "I've got something here…"

Charlie's eyes grew even more confused when he saw what was in his brother's hand. His eyes darted around the room again. "Is this a hospital?"

Don shrugged, helped him place the urinal. "I don't think so, Buddy. I don't think so."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"Just a bunch of math stuff," Colby said, peering into Charlie's backpack.

"It's not going to hurt you, Granger. Just dump the thing out on the desk."

Colby slung the backpack over his shoulder, looked back to David. "It's pretty full. I'm going to the conference room, use a bigger table."

David trailed after him, and watched Colby turn the backpack upside down. Several books, a bottle of water, Charlie's cell phone. Colby tossed that to David. "Check the voice mail, calls received," he suggested. As David left the room with the cell, Colby counted at least seven pencils and four Dry Erase markers. The paper was astronomical. Sticking out of the books, whole sheets, tiny scraps…from what he could see, it was all covered with numbers, save one half sheet. "Tuna fish, Water, Romaine, Bread. Relish? Call R." Okay, that had to be a grocery list, mostly. But who was "R", and did it even matter? There was no date on the paper. Colby put it aside to show Alan. He unzipped all the pockets then, found several more pencils, one pen, two more Dry Erase markers and at least another pound of paper scraps, covered with numbers. He was going to have to get Charlie's friend, Dr. Fleinhardt, to look at all these, and make sure they were just numbers.

Megan appeared at the doorway to the conference room, raised her eyebrows, came to the same conclusion. "I'll call Larry," she said, and turned to leave.

"Mr. Eppes, too," called Colby after her. "Ask him if Charlie has a little black book."

Megan froze momentarily, backed up to the conference room door again. "Charlie?"

Colby met her gaze. "Are you saying that he won't?"

"Well, no, of course not. I'm just surprised you give him enough credit."

"Very funny. Look, even if he doesn't have one, that's not unusual anymore. Most people just keep their contacts on their cells now, and David's looking at that."

Megan snapped her fingers. "_And_ their PCs," she grinned at Colby. "Ever meet a guy more likely to keep a little black PC?"

"Good, that's good. See if we can get that from Mr. Eppes, too."

David was back, peering over Megan's shoulder. "Why are we concentrating on Charlie?" he asked. "Just because we have his backpack? We've got Don's whole desk."

Megan's eyes widened, and she glanced over her shoulder at David. "You think we should go through Don's desk?"

Colby answered first. "Tell you what," he said, "when we find him…I'll tell him it was my idea."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………

Alan Eppes looked at his son's scribbled grocery list. "I don't remember the last time either of us had tuna," he said. "As for 'R'…well, you've got his contact list on the PC, but I know there's a Dr. Renton at Cal Sci…"

"Yes," interrupted Larry, "Dr. Renton. He's with administration. We have to submit our course evaluations to him at the end of each semester, and Charles is always late. He usually has to call to arrange an extension."

"It's finals week next week?"

"Yes, Megan…not time for Charles to require an extension yet. This is probably a note from the end of last semester; over three months ago."

Alan shuffled through several scraps of paper. "What about all these numbers?"

"Well, some of the longer sequences are quite fascinating, really," began Larry, and everyone crowded in. He raised one hand to his head, bit the fingernails of his other. "As thoeroms, I mean. Complicated thought patterns, very unique approaches…but I don't see anything here that could be some sort of message, or clue."

Megan glanced at David. "Did you get anything off the cell?"

"Nothing unusual. Charlie called the electric company, received a call from Don, when he asked him to come here, a couple of students…"

Colby raised his hand. "Wait." He looked at Larry. "You give students your personal numbers?"

"Of course," answered Larry. "It's not published information, of course, but we often extend our contact numbers to students. Those who present themselves as serious students. Those for which we act as advisors. It's completely up to the professor."

David continued. "One call from Amita, one from you, Larry."

"I remember both of those calls. Amita and I both tried to persuade Charles to join us for lunch, but he claimed he was just having tea in his office." He tapped his chin with the fingers of one hand. "I believe Amita bought him something at the deli anyway. She was going to take it by his office." He snapped his fingers. "Yes, I'm sure of it now. When I stopped by there this morning to retrieve his laptop for you, there was still a wrapped sandwich from the deli on his desk."

"Doesn't look like there's much to go on here, then," stated Alan wearily. "Have you found anything in Donnie's desk?"

"We're looking at the files he had in there," Megan said, "but mostly it's just reports one of us wrote," she indicated herself, Colby and David, "that Don has to sign off on as team leader. Nothing is setting off any warning bells."

"And he must have had his cell with him," Colby added. "We're running down the messages he received through the switchboard yesterday, but so far, nothing there, either."

David cleared his throat, glanced at Megan and Colby. "We have processed the SUV," he started, looking directly at Alan. "The airbags were both deployed, and the passenger window is shattered. Some blood on the window casing matches the sample we have on file for Charlie."

Alan and Larry both paled. "But if Charles were hurt in the accident, wouldn't Don have sought help for him, rather than move him?"

Megan nodded grimly. "You're right, Larry. Don would never have moved an injured Charlie away from that SUV willingly. Somebody must have taken them both out, and quickly, before the wreckage was spotted."

"So this person was probably there when the MVA occurred," Colby continued. "Maybe even caused it. The question is, was it intentional? Or an accident?"

David stood, walked toward the white board still covered with numbers Charlie had left there. "If it was an accident, why not call help for Don and Charlie, or even take them to a hospital?" He turned around to face the four people at the table. "This doesn't smell like an accident," he said. "Somebody caused them to leave the road, pulled them out of that SUV, has them now. This was intentional."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Don helped Charlie sit up, his back against the wall. Charlie's eyes were still wandering the room, but stopped at the video camera. Don dropped the bottle of water he was holding, and it rolled near the head of the mattress. As he leaned to pick it up, he whispered, "I think they can hear us, too."

When he sat back on the bed, Charlie was looking at him. Don offered him the water. He waited until his brother had taken a drink. Charlie didn't seem about to volunteer any information.

"How did you hurt your foot?", Don finally asked.

Charlie's eyes widened. His mouth opened, but no sound. He took another drink, cleared his throat, finally managed a raspy, "I thought you knew."

"Last thing I remember is cuffing your backpack to my chair, going down the elevator and getting in the SUV to take you home."

Charlie was still drinking, and Don grabbed the bottle. "Pace yourself. We have another bottle, but I'm not sure we'll get others."

Charlie's eyes were searching the walls. "Where is the door?"

"I'll let you know when I find it. So what do you remember? Tell me before you loose your voice again."

Charlie shrugged. "I fell asleep. Next thing I know, there's a giant marshmallow in my face and my arm is hanging out a window I never rolled down."

His words were triggering memories for Don, so he pushed. "Then?"

Charlie coughed, opened his mouth to speak again, couldn't again. Don relented and let him have some more water. It didn't help much. Charlie cut down to one-word descriptions. "Rolled. Woman. You. Passed out."

Don closed his eyes. He could see it, now.

_Almost as soon as they got in the SUV, Charlie fell asleep, his head against the window. He didn't even hear Don's cell, when Dad's friend had called. Someone from the book club…she said Dad was having dinner at her house, she thought he'd had a heart attack. Emergency was on the way, but he should come also. She lived in a rural area, an offshoot road off the old part of the Pasadena Highway, but Don knew where it was. Besides, he was sure he would meet emergency vehicles on the way._

_The entrance onto old Pasadena Highway was always harrowing, and Don was surprised Charlie slept through it. He knew he was taking this way too fast for the condition of the road, but he had to get to Dad. _

_Finally, they reached the turn-off, almost missed it. Charlie bumped his head pretty good on that one, which seemed to wake him up a little. But just as he saw his brother raise his arm to feel the bump on his head, Don felt the passenger front tire blow. Don gripped the wheel, tried to keep on the narrow road, but he'd been going too fast. The SUV twisted off toward the right, rolled, landed upright in a narrow ravine._

_Don tried to look to see Charlie, but both of the airbags had deployed, and it was already dark outside. "Charlie!", he yelled. "Charlie!" He was fumbling with his seat belt with one hand, pushing at the driver's door with the other. Suddenly the door flew open — someone had pulled from the outside at the same time that he was pushing from the inside._

"_You've got to get out!" He heard a woman's voice. "I smell smoke!" She knocked his hands away, easily released the seatbelt. Her strength surprised him when she started to drag him out from behind the air bag._

"_My brother's in the car," he yelled, pulling away from her outside the SUV. "I think he's hurt."_

"_We've got to hurry!" she insisted, but went with him to the passenger side. Don was getting dizzy. He didn't think he was hurt anywhere — he felt some bruising on his face and ribs from the air bag, but didn't find any blood — but the fear and adrenaline and terror for his brother was affecting him. He put his hands on his knees, bent over to take a few deep breaths. When he stood back up, she was trying to pull Charlie through the broken window._

"_Wait!" He pushed her aside, yanked on the door._

"_There's no time!" She tried to shove him aside._

"_Just help me, he pleaded, remembering her strength when she had pulled him from the car. Suddenly, he was sure he could smell smoke also, and his pulls became more frantic._

_Finally the woman joined him. Just when he was about to do it her way, and break out the rest of the window, the door popped open. It was just a few inches, but it was enough for her to wiggle in, snap the seat belt._

"_Grab him now," she panted, "drag him out!"_

_Don knew he couldn't wait to do this properly. She said the SUV was going to catch on fire, he had to get him out. As he pulled on Charlie, twisting his slight frame enough to get him through the opening, she was at his shoulder again, lending her strength. Charlie's foot caught on the door, and he could hear Charlie yelling now. Don stopped, but she kept pulling. He was afraid she was going to pull it off, and he turned to stop her when Charlie flew out of the SUV, knocking all three of them to the ground._

_They lay there, gasping. "Charlie!", Don cried again, but his brother was unconscious again. The woman scrambled up, pointed to headlights on the road. _

"_That's my truck," she said. "Let's get him up there and I'll take you both for help."_

"_But…"_

"_Smell the smoke!" she screamed at him. "It's so dry around here — once that fire starts, we can't be anywhere near!" She was forcing Don on his feet, and he wrapped his arms around his brother's body. The ravine was slight, but it was still almost more than he could do, in shock himself, to drag Charlie up to the road. The woman kept tugging at the back of his shirt. He had to trust her to lead the way._

_Finally they were on the road, stumbling to her pickup. Don started for the passenger door, but she called, "back here! Put him back here" Don looked over the cab into the bed, saw a couple of thin mattresses. She was at his elbow. "I just bought these," she said, pushing him now, "was taking them home. He'll be more comfortable."_

_Don decided that maybe he should let Charlie lie down, and together the two of them wrestled him up into the truck bed, onto the mattresses. Don kneeled over his brother, then turned to ask if she had a blanket._

_The two-by-four didn't hit him that hard. Her aim was off in the dark. Still, the surprise alone knocked him off his feet and in moments, she was on top of him, holding something over his mouth. Chloroform. He could smell it, he tried not to smell it, tried to push her off, was amazed again at her strength. He tried to turn again toward Charlie, but the next thing he knew, they were both in this room._

When he opened his eyes again, Charlie was staring at him. "You okay?", he whispered.

Don swallowed. This time Charlie handed him the bottle of water, and Don drank some, mostly to stall for time. He lowered the bottle, looked his brother in the eye. "I got a call, while you were asleep," he said gently. "I was trying to get us to Dad. I think Dad is in trouble."

Charlie closed his eyes, began to slip down the wall. Don reached out a hand to help him settle back in a lying position on the mattress. His brother accepted his touch, but he wouldn't open his eyes. "Charlie?", he asked, and he leaned over again to check his brother's fever. His hand stopped, though, when he saw tears squeezing out of Charlie's closed eyes, running in rivers down his face. On its own accord, his hand switched its mission. Instead of putting a palm to his brother's forehead, he cupped his cheek, and Charlie turned into it.

Don hung his head, and let his brother cry.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

_It was almost too easy. When she had called him, she didn't know Charlie was with him. That was a bonus she found after she shot out the tire, watched the accident, climbed down to "help". She had expected to find some way to get to him later. She shuddered. Good thing she hadn't told Don that Charlie needed his help, good thing she had picked Alan instead…The shudder turned into a smile. Daddy would have been so proud. All those years she spent hunting with him, he was such a taskmaster. Insisting on hours at the range every season before he would even take her out…she was a good student. An 8th degree marksman, she had placed at a competition, and he had rewarded her with the rifle she still had. It was a beautiful firearm…well-balanced, with a first class sight._

_Yes, the fact that Daddy had wanted a boy was serving her well, now. Not just with her shooting skills. Otherwise, she might not have picked the right truck, equipped the bed with hydraulics. She never could have gotten them out of there…but it was easy, just tipping the bed enough for them to slide out, into the room. If not for the skills her father taught her, she wouldn't have been able to build that room. Well, most of that room. Some of the electronics, although the configuration was designed by her, were beyond her skills. She had to hire someone to install the camera, the bank of monitors in the main house. Someone else made the sliding wall that she had insisted on, like one huge closet door on a track. He had looked at her like she was crazy, but her check had cleared, so he had done the work. He probably wouldn't have leaked, but the risk was just too great. At least now she knew that her beautiful rifle worked just as well at close range…and she was growing some great tomatoes out back in the greenhouse._

_She watched the monitors. The youngest was sleeping, again. Don, the highly trained FBI agent that she had reduced to inadequacy simply by threatening his family, he was at the west wall again, still trying to find a door. It was a shame, really. Soon, they would all understand that she was doing this for them._

_Don approached the camera, then, stood directly in front of the lens, looked up. He held up the bottle of pain reliever she had sent in. "Thank you," he said, and she was touched. Maybe he was starting to understand already. "He needs food, to take this," Don was continuing. It was interesting that he knew someone could hear him. "I know that you have a heart," he continued, "thank you for what you sent in. We need food, more water, now." He glanced over his shoulder at Charlie, then back at the camera. "Maybe more medical supplies?" He waited for a moment as if he expected the camera to speak, then finally wandered away. He pushed his own mattress across the room to be closer to his brother. That was sweet, she thought. He's a good boy. Wearily, he grabbed one of the bottles of water, drained it, dropped it neatly in the small bucket with the other trash. Finally he stood over his brother's mattress, looked at him a while. Then he crossed behind it to his own, sat down on the edge._

_She really liked him, had liked both the boys when they had met, and it hurt her to see his despair. She tried to make him feel her thoughts. "Soon, Don," she communicated to him. "Soon we will all be together."_


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

He must have fallen asleep. If he was waking up, he must have fallen asleep. Don's first action was to check Charlie. Still sleeping, but the blankets were still there. He must be less restless. Don next checked the corner, and felt disappointment. There had been no more visits by the Bucket Fairy.

He sat up on the bed and crossed his legs. At the same time, Charlie stirred, lazily opened his eyes. He saw Don looking at him and smiled.

Don smiled back. "Feeling better?", he asked, hopefully.

Charlie started to sit up, winced when he automatically tried to push up with his foot. Don hurried to help him, broke open the last bottle of water. Charlie took a drink, and handed the bottle to Don. As Don was drinking, he watched his brother. At first, he seemed confused. His eyes moved all over the room. He sat up a little straighter on his own, cleared his throat.

"Where's the door?", he asked again. His voice was still raspy, but better. If he could get him some food and give him some of the pills, Don thought, maybe that would help even more.

"Can't find one."

The pupils of Charlie's eyes suddenly seemed larger, and too late, Don remembered his brother's claustrophobia. "It's all right," he hurried to assure him. "There must be one, I've just got to find it." He leaned forward to check Charlie's fever, but the shadow coming at him pushed Charlie over the edge. Startling Don, he shoved him aside, used his hands to raise himself into a standing position against the wall.

"There's no air!" His voice was frantic.

Don stood and tried an approach again. "Yes, there is, Charlie, we're fine. We're okay."

Before he could reach him, his brother hopped out of reach, turning to face the wall. He began banging his fists against it. "Just open the door," he begged, "I won't try to leave! Please!" He turned back toward Don, began ripping the gauze off his arm. "It's too hot. G-d, it's too hot."

By now Don was close enough to grab Charlie's arm. "Stop it, Charlie, don't. Just breathe. Look at me. We're all right." But he could tell from the wild look Charlie threw at him that he was already beyond control. With strength Don didn't know he had, he tossed his brother aside again, began hopping down the wall some more. He was still ripping at his arm.

"Open the door! Open the damn door!"

Don chased him across the room, remembering an earlier time when this had happened to Charlie. They had been kids, about 7 and 12, exploring the neighborhood, and found an open manhole. Don had dared Charlie to climb down, then had slammed the lid over the hole, intending it as a joke. When he heard his brother screaming, he tried to lift the lid again, but in his panic could not. He'd had to run away, find an adult. By the time he could get to Charlie again, his brother was curled up in the inch of water at the bottom, in a near-catatonic state. He'd been claustrophobic ever since, but avoided his triggers so well, that it was easy to forget. Don remembered, now, though.

He faced his brother, saw fresh blood trickling down his arm. He was hurting himself. Don drew a deep breath, drew up his courage, drew back his fist, aimed for Charlie's chest, and just as he let fly, Charlie began to slide down the wall. He connected solidly with Charlie's nose.

Charlie's hands flew up, and he dropped to his knees. Don dropped to his, reaching out to steady his brother. He saw tears in his brother's eyes. "Oh, shit, Charlie, shit, I'm sorry…"

Charlie dropped his hands, revealing the blood that poured out his nose, coursed down his face and rolled off his chin. He looked at Don, eyes focused now. "Ooo summa biii," he croaked. "Ooo bro by dose!"


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Don crawled quickly to the mattress he had been sleeping on, ripped the sheet from the mess of bedding. He tried to tear it, got nowhere. "Some tough FBI agent I am," he thought, glancing over at Charlie, who still kneeled motionless by the east wall. Aloud, he growled, "Dammit!" and searched the sheet for a weaker spot. He looked at Charlie again, saw how pale he was against the dark blood coming off both his face and arm. He felt fear, and nothing made him angrier than feeling fear — except maybe seeing Charlie hurt. In a sudden rip he felt the sheet give way, and he scrambled back toward his brother as he continued to tear the sheet in pieces. When he reached him, he had just enough time to drop the impromptu bandages and catch Charlie as he slumped backwards, preventing him from banging his head on the wall. He helped his brother straighten his legs in front of him, careful of the injured foot.

He shoved a piece of sheet into Charlie's hand. "Hold this," he commanded, "put your head back". It turned out to be more of a narration than an order, as he had to physically tilt Charlie's head back himself, and guide his hand to his face.

Then he was back at the mattresses, grabbing the few alcohol pads they had left. He looked around for something — anything — else he could use, settled for the water, grabbed it, and went back to Charlie. The sheet was soaking through already, and he lifted Charlie's left hand long enough to add another piece under it. Then he concentrated on Charlie's right arm. Most of the gauze was hanging loosely already, and he unwound it, tossed it toward the bucket in the corner. The wound still looked angry and red, and it was bleeding again, but at least there was no thin yellow stream of purulent infection this time. First he used a wet piece of sheet to clean the arm. When he moved to the alcohol pads, he finally got a reaction out of Charlie, who grunted and involuntarily jerked his arm away. Don hung on, and did what he could with what he had left, using the largest piece of sheet to wrap his brother's arm again. He cringed as he did it, knowing the sheet was not sterile…but it was all he had.

Carefully, he lifted Charlie's hand from his face, used another scrap wet with water to wash away the blood. Mercifully, it had slowed considerably. He picked up the last piece of sheet, replaced the bloody ones, and held it in place himself this time.

"Not quite done," he said quietly. His voice was unsteady as he apologized again to his brother. "I'm so sorry, Charlie. I'm so sorry."

Charlie kept his head tilted back against the wall, eyes closed. He was bracing himself with his left hand, now, but he raised his right one and located Don's holding the sheet to his nose. He trailed his fingers up the arm, blindly reaching Don's face. Then he continued on, until his hand was on the back of his brother's head, buried in his hair. He pulled Don, who was crying now, he couldn't stop it, down toward his chest, patted the back of his head. He let his arm fall then, and Don knew he was unconscious again.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………

The light from the skylight was dwindling. Don couldn't feel his arm anymore. Cautiously, he lifted his hand. Not bleeding anymore. That was good. Charlie was seriously slumping, and rather than try to get him across the room, Don got up and kicked both of the mattresses over to Charlie. He tried to lay him down gently, but Charlie moaned a little, drew his arm into his side. Don sighed. He was still so hot. He decided to roll him onto his side, in case his nose started bleeding again. He didn't want Charlie to choke. Once he had him positioned, he used one of his own blankets to prop him at the back, and covered him up.

Then he huddled under the one remaining blanket on the other mattress, and waited for morning.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Eppes. We're looking at everything. I'm sure this is difficult for you."

"I know, Megan, I'm sorry I called so late."

"Not at all, please, anything I can do…You know we'll get in touch as soon as we have a solid lead. Do you need someone to come and stay with you?"

Alan rubbed his face. "No, dear, no. Thank you. That's not necessary. We'll talk tomorrow?"

"Of course. And please, call me again whenever you want to."

Alan hung up the phone, collapsed on the couch. It was dark, he should turn the light on. But all he would see were those who were missing.

He dropped his head into his hands, and waited for morning.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………

_She was back from the store, and looked at the monitors in confusion. What was this new mess? Why was there more blood? The youngest hadn't been hurt that badly in the accident, she was sure of it. He must have been sick before; she remembered that he was warm when she helped pull him from the SUV. The mattresses had been moved again. She paced a little, worried. She had gotten everything he had asked for, she just needed to arrange a trade, somehow. It was too soon, but maybe she should move up the timeline. She would have to think about that, tonight._

_She prepared the new buckets, placed them directly outside the wall. She would figure out tonight what to do next._

_She glanced at the monitors once more, let the cat out, then walked to the other end of the house to her bedroom._

_She lay down, and waited for morning._


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Thanks to all following and reviewing. Special thanks to imbreena and fair warning to anyone with a bloody nose – don't tilt your head back! (Let this be a message to us all: nothing is too basic to research.)**

**Finally, let me point out that I have only been writing fanfic for a few weeks, and this IS my 4th story, so my luck was bound to run out sometime! Carry on.**

…………………………………………………………………………………………………

**Chapter 9**

.The brothers had completed their "morning toilette", and were now back sitting on one mattress. Don had been happy to see Charlie get himself up and half-hop, half-balance against the wall, and approach the bucket. That had to be good, right? He snuck another peek at Charlie's face.

"It might not be broken. I could check, maybe pack the nostrils with some of the toilet paper…"

Charlie raised a hand. "Doh. Tank u. 'Skay."

"Well…at least you seem to have more of your voice back, today."

Charlie looked at him accusingly. "U slep all ni."

Don grew concerned. "Why? What happened?"

Charlie's eyes looked tired, Don noted. Well…why wouldn't they, really …

"Mizrabl, hot…tink fever broke."

Don smiled, leaned forward to touch his brother's forehead. Definitely cooler. Warm, but not as hot, maybe. Yeah, we'll go for definitely cooler. "Great! You should have woken we up if you were miserable."

"Tot u mite hit me 'gin."

Don's smile faded and he dropped his head, but felt Charlie's fingers brush him arm. When he looked up again, Charlie was grinning. Don felt some relief, but still didn't think the situation was all that funny. "Look," he said, "I really am…"

They both heard it at the same time. A scraping. They looked at each other. Soon a sliver of light came from the west and their attention was drawn that way. The west wall was disappearing — it looked like it was drawing back on itself. Don jumped up, started across the room.

"That's far enough."

He saw the rifle and heard the voice at the same time. He froze, looked at the woman he now remembered from the accident scene. The rifle was not pointing at him. He followed the trajectory. It was pointed directly at Charlie's head. "Don't." It was the first thing he thought to say.

"I shot the tire out on your SUV, Don, believe me, I know how to use this. Not another word, or I _will_ fire."

She waited. The rifle was braced against one shoulder, her feet were in a shooter's stance. One hand controlled the rifle, finger resting lightly on the trigger, while her free hand supported the buttstock. Her breathing was steady, even. Don could tell from her body language, as well as her voice, that she knew how to handle the weapon.

"Now," she continued. "I have two new buckets for you. I got you everything you asked for. When you approach to make a trade, you do it slowly. You stop six inches before the groove in the floor, make the trade, step back. Not one toe farther. Not one syllable comes out of your mouth. If you so much as grunt, Don, I have enough ammunition for all of us."

The use of his name startled him, and he barely kept himself from asking. He looked at Charlie, who's eyes were wide, with fright…and recognition?

"Do it now," she stated, never taking her eye from the sight trained on Charlie. "I already have a round in the chamber."

If Charlie hadn't been there, he never would have played it her way. If the rifle were not trained on his brother, whom he couldn't even hear breathing anymore, he would have rushed her, or tried to talk to her, or…he thought…something else stupid that could have gotten him killed. But that was an acceptable risk, his own life. She knew that, too. That's why the rifle was trained on Charlie. She knew he would never risk Charlie's life.

Don measured his steps, did as he was told. He pushed the buckets just beyond the groove in the floor, leaned out awkwardly and dragged the other two in. When he was finished, he held up both hands, so that she could see out of her peripheral vision.

"All the way back, under the camera. Walk backwards. Keep those hands up."

When he felt himself hit the wall, he stopped, hoped he was somewhere near the target location. She stepped a few inches to one side, maintaining her aim, hit something with her elbow. The wall began to creak and inch its way closed.

Her face softened. "It's all right, that you don't remember me. We only met for a short time. We'll get to know each other, though." The wall/door snapped closed, but he could still hear her voice on the other side. "We'll all be a family, soon."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………

Angry, Don strode back to the buckets, picked up the one that was serving as a gift basket, and carried it back to where Charlie was sitting. He dumped everything out on the mattress, but looked at Charlie before he went through it.

"Did you recognize her?"

Charlie tore confused eyes away from the wall, met Don's gaze. Nodded. "I tink so."

"From where?"

"Dad's barbecue last year, for book club."

Don remembered. It had been on a Saturday, and he had come by the house to pick up Charlie. The two of them were going to the batting cages, so that Dad could have the place for his own purposes, for a while. He had joked, when he told them about it, that he was campaigning for the presidency. Don was late, and a few people were already there when he arrived. He and Charlie had been introduced, made their excuses, and left. It was just a matter of a few seconds…

"Do you remember her name?"

Charlie closed his eyes, tried to place himself back there. He remembered that it made him think of something pretty, something in his mother's garden…his eyes snapped open.

"Rosa."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Alan looked at Rosa over the top of the jar of canned tomatoes that sat between them on the kitchen table. "I appreciate your stopping by," he said, "listening to me rattle on about the boys."

She smiled. "I enjoyed it," she assured him. "And I was just so sorry to hear about Don and Charlie."

"It was kind of you to drive all the way in. When you called this morning, I was so disappointed that it wasn't them, that it wasn't Megan with some news…I'm afraid I was rude."

"Not at all, Alan, not at all." Her voice was soothing, and she reached a hand across the table to rest on his. "As soon as you told me what was happening, my heart went out to you. I wanted to see you, to offer my support." She flashed a smile again. "I'm sure you'll see them again soon."

Her eyes wandered to the clock on the wall, and she stood. "I should leave now," she said. "You'll want to be calling Don's friends at the FBI."

Alan stood as well, rubbed his face with one hand. "Yes, I'm sure I will — even though I know they will call me as soon as they know anything…"

She touched his hand again. "Still…you need to check."

He offered small, tight smile. "Right. I'll walk you to your car." He looked back at the table. "And thank you again for the tomatoes."

She blushed. "It was silly, really, I just wanted to bring something, and the greenhouse crop has been so good this year. I just canned those a few weeks ago."

Alan opened the kitchen door, took Rosa's elbow. "I'm sure they're delicious," he remarked, as they reached the car. He stood and waited while she turned the key in the ignition. The engine did not so much as turn over.

She lowered her head to the steering wheel. "Not again," she moaned. "I just got this out of the shop!"

"Would you like me to look at it? You could pop the hood…"

"No, Alan, thank you. I know what the problem is. I'll just call for a tow back to the auto shop."

Alan opened the door. "That's ridiculous. Obviously they don't know what they're doing. I have a mechanic who comes to my home to work on my car, let me call him. He's very good, and usually can come right away. In the meantime, I can give you a ride home."

She stepped delicately from the car, fingered the distributor cap in her purse. "If you're sure you don't mind if I leave it here for a few days, I would really appreciate that. I just know so little about cars, I'm sure everyone takes advantage of me."

Alan smiled, patted his pocket. "Not a problem, Rosa. I have my keys right here. Just let me run up and lock the kitchen door, and we'll be on our way."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………

He placed the last bag on the table.

"Thank you so much for stopping at a grocery store for me," Rosa said. "I feel the complete fool."

He smiled. "I don't mind, Rosa. After all, your car's not running — I could hardly leave you all the way out here without supplies!"

She smiled as he looked down at his watch. "I really do need to get back, though. I'm just going to go by Don's office, talk to them in person."

"Of course. Thank you, again."

When he turned to go, her voice stopped him. "Alan? I'm sorry, but while you're here, could I just show you something, very quickly?" She blushed, looked down. "No, you're anxious to leave, I'm sorry."

As she had known he would, he turned back around. "It's all right. I can take another minute…but then I really do have to go."

"Oh, thank you, Alan, really, I appreciate it. It will just take a moment. It's this way."

She led the way, then, into the room that held the monitors. She was so excited. It was finally going to happen. He was going to see, now. As they left the kitchen her fingers reached up to the alarm system mounted on the wall, and she locked them all in.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………

He entered the room, saw the computer equipment. He was about to ask her what she wanted him to see when he…heard Don's voice.

"There are some granola bars here. You should eat one, and then take some of the pain reliever."

Was that Charlie's voice answering? "She sent me a clean t-shirt."

Rosa turned to him and smiled, indicating the monitors, and he forced himself to look at the screens. Don and Charlie, somewhere, on a thin mattress on the floor. Don and Charlie. Oh, dear G-d. Don and Charlie!

He looked up at her frantically. "What…Where…"

"Sshh," she soothed, placing her hand on his arm, "it's all right now." She looked at the monitor herself. "You see, they're safe. I've been taking care of them for you. They're good boys, Alan, you and your wife did an excellent job…but I needed you to see, for yourself, I can take care of them for you, now that Margaret is gone. I know you worry about them, especially a son who works for the FBI, but see? He won't be going to work, anymore."

Alan just stared, his blood freezing in his veins, eyes darting between the vision of his sons on the monitors and the still talking Rosa before him.

"You see, now, right? I'm showing you what a good mother I am…you can trust your boys with me. I'll take care of us all, Alan. We can all stay here. We can be a family."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Alan felt strangled, impotent, frozen. "You can't do this," he finally said, walking closer to Rosa. "You have to let them go!"

She frowned, stepped out of his reach. "Let them go? To what? I've heard your stories, Alan, I know how you worry. You're afraid that Don will be injured in the line of duty, Charlie is too wrapped up in his mind to use common sense sometimes…why, if he hadn't tried to work a full day _and_ help Don when he was sick already, he wouldn't even be here yet!" She glanced again at the monitors. "And you can see, you can look…", her frown deepened, she rubbed at her temple as if she had a headache. "It wasn't true what they said."

"Who? One of the boys said something to make you angry?"

"No! Alan, please, pay attention! I _like_ Don and Charlie, I really do. And you and I should be together…but I knew you wouldn't leave them, and I knew it wasn't true what those other people said…back when…back when I lost David. I **was not** a bad mother. It was **not** my fault. I did **_nothing_** to endanger that baby, he was my life!" Her voice was rising, and she gestured frantically at the monitor. "I'm a good mother, ask your sons! I've taken care of them! I gave them whatever they asked for!"

"Rosa, please…" Alan held his hands up, so show that he was not going to try to touch her again. "I can see…" His voice broke, and it was difficult to continue. "I can see what a good mother you are." She smiled, and he followed his instincts. His instincts would take him to his sons. He swallowed. "Sweetheart…" Rosa's smile grew tender, and she didn't interrupt him. "I'm so grateful to you for taking care of them. You were right to show me what a good mother you…you will be, to my sons."

"To **our** sons," she breathed, taking another step back from him. Her hand stretched out behind her, because she needed to feel it. The cold steel was comforting to her.

Alan couldn't repeat it, so he just agreed. "Yes. But you must let me go to them, Rosa."

She began to shake her head, and he rushed on. "Please, you don't want me to worry. I need to see them…" He could tell this line of reasoning wasn't working, jumped at a sudden inspiration. "Rosa. Sweetheart," he said again. "Please let me tell them about us."

She leaned the rifle back against the wall, and interest piqued in her face. "Alan?"

"I'll tell them what a good mother you will be, how happy I am to have them safe, now."

"I'm already a good mother," she pouted.

"Of course, of course you are Rosa. I'm sorry, that's what I meant…"

She scowled, touched the smooth, precious steel again. "You're just making fun of me."

Alan looked at the monitors again. They both reflected the same view, but one was a close-up. He could tell that Charlie wasn't well, He could see how closely Don was sitting to his brother, how often he looked at him, how solicitous he was. Alan closed his eyes, whispered a prayer to his Margaret, opened them again to look directly at Rosa. "Darling." He took one step forward, grabbed her face with both hands, kissed her with an intensity that nearly dropped her to her knees. He drew back, caressing her cheek with one hand. "I wouldn't make fun of you. You know that. Please. Let's do this right, dearest. Let's tell the boys together." She didn't answer right away, so he gently pressed. "Where are they?"

She cleared her throat, hefted the rifle until it was between them. "You understand," she whispered, indicating it. "They don't know yet, so I've had to be careful."

He flinched. "But I'm here, now…"

"No," she interrupted, stepping around him, still holding the rifle. "I must still be careful." She paused at the doorway, remembering his kiss. She turned to him. "I'm taking the rifle, and you have to do what I say. It's for all of us." He looked at her hopefully, and felt the blood rush to his head when she turned away again, saying, "Follow me. They're this way."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………

"Thirty-two," said Charlie. "I wish I had somewhere to keep score."

Don was exasperated. "The only reason you're making any points at all is because it's impossible to play Scrabble in your head. At least for normal people. And you can't even play it when the letters are right in front of you – maybe that hit on the head made you some kind of spelling savant."

"What? What are you…"

Suddenly, they heard the scraping again. Don's head whipped around to face the west wall. She was coming back? Why? He hadn't asked for anything, had he? He glanced at Charlie, saw him hiding a bottle of water under the pile of blankets. Was she coming to take things away, this time?

He looked back at the opening now created in the wall. He rose dreamily to his feet. He didn't remember opening his mouth, but his heard his own voice echoing in the nearly empty room. "Dad?"

Her hand was on Alan's back. "Not yet." She positioned herself with the rifle, again targeting Charlie on his mattress. "No one touches. No one moves."

Alan felt his heart breaking. To be so close…his arms actually hurt.

"Tell them," she said.

"I can't go in?" he begged, and she chambered a round in his ear. "This is Rosa," he said hurridly. "She's proven to me what a good mother she is, how she can keep you boys safe." His eyes drifted to Charlie, still sitting propped against the wall, eyes wide and uncomprehending. Then to Don, frozen only four feet away, eyes burning and angry. She elbowed Alan in the back. "We'll be a family, now," he choked. He tried to speak to Don with his eyes. "You'll see. Maybe…" he searched his head, heard the door start scraping closed. He continued to look at Don as long as he could. "We'll have David Granger perform the ceremony, all right?" The door snapped shut and he closed his eyes. Did she know that much about the people Don worked with?

"Thank you," she said gently. She knew he was upset, wanted to comfort him. She nudged him down the hallway with the beautiful rifle. "They'll be all right. I gave them a lot of water, today." They reached the kitchen again. "Please, Alan, sit down. You must be hungry." She carried the weapon with her as she walked over and turned on the stove. "I'll heat up some lasagna."


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Don still felt as if he were in a dream. Had any of that just happened? Did his father really just stand there and say he was marrying Rosa? Refuse to come to them? Maybe this had all been some sort of late-night-pizza nightmare. Could be that Don wasn't here, either. He was pretty sure it was real, though, and he had to pull himself together. Not looking at his brother yet, he paced, replaying what his father had said. He turned toward Charlie, suddenly, shouted, "David Granger!"

Charlie wasn't looking at him, so Don went over to the mattress and sat down. He remembered that they were being listened to, then, and was afraid he'd given away too much with his excited shout. "Charlie," he said, desperately trying to cover, "isn't that the guy who married Larry and Amita last year?"

Charlie raised his head and met his eyes. Confusion was soon replaced with understanding. "Right," he rasped, voice getting hoarse again. "Right."

Don wasn't sure what to do. By mixing Colby Granger and David Sinclair into one name, his father had sent a message: the FBI was on the case, Don's team was looking for them. Alan was obviously doing what he could to stall Rosa, placate her. Don would have to trust them all — trust Megan, Colby and David, trust his father — and yet do nothing himself. "I hate this," he growled, realized he had spoken aloud when Charlie asked, "What?"

"Losing to you in Scrabble," answered Don. "Even when you cheat. So what's the score? If you win, tonight I'll ask the camera for paper and pencil for you — or would you prefer white board and dry eraser?"

Charlie smiled tiredly, rubbed his head. "Don't remember the score. Can I just forfeit?"

Don frowned, took a better look at Charlie. He reached out to put a hand on his forehead, easily brushed aside Charlie's own hand when he attempted to stop him.

"Think you're heating up again, Buddy."

Charlie tilted his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. "Yeah," he agreed, almost conversationally. "Arm kind-of hurts."

Don dropped his eyes to Charlie's right arm, then rummaged around in the treasures gleaned from their daily bucket earlier. "There's more stuff here. Alcohol wipes and gauze. We should clean it again." Without waiting for a response, Don grabbed Charlie's arm, almost dropped it again when he felt the heat. Dreading what was coming, he removed the old bandage. He looked with dismay at the wound, which still had angry, red, ragged edges, was still oozing. The thin yellow pus was back, and now Don was afraid he also saw faint lines of red leading out toward the uninjured part of Charlie's arm. "I knew the sheet was a mistake," he thought, and ripped open an alcohol pad. He looked at Charlie's face. He was still leaning back, still had his eyes closed. "Ready or not…", he said, and let loose with the pad on Charlie's arm.

Charlie immediately jerked his head up, tried to pull his arm back, but Don held on until he was done, using several more pads. He checked Charlie's face again. His brother was definitely greener than usual. "Almost done, now", he said, and reached for the roll of gauze. A small tube fell out of it, and Don almost wept with joy. "Hey! Antibiotic cream."

As he opened the tube he heard Charlie say quietly, "Yeah. Rosa's a good mother."

Don looked up quickly, saw the tease in Charlie's eye, gave him a secret grin. Soon he was finished rebandaging the arm, and moved his attention to his brother's foot. "This looks better," he said, looked through the supplies again. "There's an ace bandage here. I could wrap it."

Charlie raised his left hand. "No, not now, please. Maybe later."

"Yeah, we have to save something for later," Don murmured, and pushed the curls off Charlie's forehead. "Still bruised here," he noted, "but the lump is smaller."

"I'll take your word for that," Charlie said, and started to slide down the wall to lie on the mattress again. "Don't look at my nose."

Don smiled at him fondly. "Going to sleep again? What am I going to do?"

Charlie opened his eyes, started to push himself up. "I'm sorry…"

Don managed to push him back down with hardly any effort. "No, I'm just kidding. Get some sleep." He glanced up at the camera. "Maybe Mom will have some more surprises for us later."


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

When Megan couldn't get an answer from Alan on either his cell phone or at the house, she decided to drive by.

"He's probably on the way here," Colby noted, but she grabbed her car keys anyway.

"I know, but I'm worried about him. He called me pretty late last night…I just feel like I should go and see him."

She drove the distance to Charlie's house with her cell headset on, just in case he called. When she got there, she had to pull up in front. She called Colby at the office. "I'm here. I don't see his car, but there's another car I don't know in the driveway. Run this plate." While she was talking Megan was approaching the front door. She knocked, rang the bell. "I'm not getting an answer."

"This might be something," she heard Colby say.

She stopped midway in her walk to the kitchen entry. "What?"

"Last night I called L.A.P.D. and L.A. County Sheriff, checked our files too, for reports of missing persons in the tri-county area in the last six months. It's a lot of files, I'm still going through them…but I saw one this morning for an independent carpenter. His ex-wife reported him missing when he was late with the alimony check. The Sheriff's office accessed his bank account and traced the last 20 business checks that went through. All these people were cleared as suspects, but one name here is Rosa Marimot, the name that came up on your plate."

Megan reached frantically for her notebook. "I've heard that name," she said, breathlessly. "Here, here…when I talked to Mr. Eppes the morning after Don and Charlie disappeared — she's the secretary of his book club, and didn't show up at the meeting Wednesday night!"

David had been listening to the conversation on Colby's speaker. "I checked on her first thing," he said. "Her brother really had a heart attack, was taken to County three days ago."

"Check again," Megan said, and headed back to her car. "I'm coming in." She was halfway there when David called her back. "County checked their records again. Marimot's brother was admitted through the ER with a cardiac arrest on Monday night — she's listed as his next-of-kin — but he died on Tuesday. There was no way Rosa Marimot was visiting him on Wednesday."

"Give me the address," demanded Megan, and Colby voice came on the line with the information.

"David and I are leaving now," he said, and Megan could hear him walking away from the desk. He shouted back toward the phone. "Don't do anything without back-up!"


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Alan stared with no appetite at the lasagna. G-d knew, he didn't want to do anything to set Rosa off.

"You're not eating." It was a statement, an accusation.

He looked at her guiltily. "I'm sure this is delicious, and I appreciate your effort, Rosa…it's just…I'm allergic to tomatoes."

"Oh, dear." She stood from her chair and looked frantically around. "Now I really feel like an idiot…that's all I put in the greenhouse this year."

"It's all right, you couldn't know." Her hands were clutching at her hair, he could see her nearing the edge of her precipitous mind, over his allergy to tomatoes. How in the world was he going to keep her on this side of the gorge long enough for Don's team to find them? He didn't doubt that they would. He just had to give them time.

"The boys both like them," he offered, and she stopped her headlong pace of the kitchen.

"Really?"

He was encouraged. "A great deal, I think. Probably because they're never around the house, so it's always been a treat, of sorts, anything with tomato sauce."

She smiled. "You see, that's another thing I can do for them. And later," she was growing excited now, "later they can help in the greenhouse. The bags of fertilizer are very heavy."

"I'm sure they would like to help you, Rosa." Alan tried to keep any inflection of sarcasm out of his voice. "They can help a lot around here…but you have to let them out for them to help."

The smile became a frown again. "Not yet. It's not time yet." She walked to the refrigerator, opened the door. "I could make you a nice salad?"

…………………………………………………………………………………………………

Later that afternoon, she let him sit in the room with the monitors, and watch the boys for a while. She stood near him while he watched. Charlie was sleeping, but he was restless. Alan imagined smoothing the curls away from his forehead, sitting with him and rubbing his back until his sleep became more peaceful. He envisioned Charlie sitting out by the koi pond, notebook in hand, counting the number of times the koi swam north to south versus east to west, and developing an algorithim to show a pattern to the change of direction. He had been nine when he had done that, and Alan had been both fascinated and terrified.

He saw Don lying on his back on the other mattress, but he wasn't asleep. He was tossing an imaginary ball up to the ceiling, catching it, glancing every now and then at his brother. Maybe he could hear soft moans of distress that weren't being picked up by the microphone. He stood and walked to the west wall, trying to figure a way to make it disappear from his side. He squatted and ran his fingers along the bottom of the wall. How many times had he done that? With Charlie sick, Don was often virtually alone in that room, and while he'd always been independent, it made Alan's heart ache to think of the frustration of inactivity Don must be feeling, the agony of not being able to help his brother, get them both out of there.

Finally Don walked toward the camera, stopped and looked directly at the lens. He cleared his throat. "Dad," he said, and Alan jumped. "Dad…" Don's eyes wandered but he brought them back to the camera. "Charlie and I were talking, and we think David Granger is a great idea." Alan's heart leapt. Don had understood his message. Don continued. "You'll like him, Rosa. We all went to a wedding he did last year, and it was a beautiful ceremony."

Rosa's hand touched Alan's shoulder. "That's sweet…", she murmured.

"We'd like to help get things ready," Don went on. "If you need us, Rosa, we'll help you. I promise."

Alan and Rosa were both tearing up now, for different reasons. Abruptly, she stepped back from Alan. "I need to think now. I can lock this room from the outside, if you would like to stay here. Or, there's a guest room." Alan looked at her, and she was rubbing her head again. "I need to feed the cat."

"All right," he said gently. "That's fine, Rosa. You take care of your chores. I'll stay here, with the boys."

She stepped out the room, gave him a smile as she was closing the door. "That's why I fell in love with you, you know," she said somewhat shyly. "I could tell you were a good father." Then the door shut, and he heard a key turn in the lock.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

The three had rendezvoused half a mile from the house, walked along the tree line to a spot on the ridge where they could look down on the property. Megan watched through binoculars. Colby paced the road behind her, being unhappy into his cell phone. David stood between them, arms crossed, watching Colby. He wasn't really surprised when Colby yelled, "Dammit!" and tossed the cell phone at least 300 feet down the road. David heard it shatter, looked at Colby.

"I guess it's a good thing Megan and I still have ours. But you're doing the paperwork on that."

Megan turned at the sound of his voice and saw the frustration on Colby's face. "What happened?"

"Can't get a warrant," Colby growled. "Not enough to go on."

Megan almost dropped the binoculars. _"What?"_

"Rosa Marimot was officially cleared as a suspect in the Reynolds case — the missing carpenter."

"But Alan's car is on the property," Megan protested.

"Marimot is an officer in the same book club. His car, his person, being there is not considered suspect. Lying about her brother is not legal cause for a warrant."

David ran a hand over his bald head. "Maybe we should just drive up there," he suggested. "Ask to speak with Alan."

"We might be able to get him out of there," agreed Megan, "by saying we need him at the office to show him something about the case…" She brightened. "We could even say that he's a suspect." She was really getting into the idea, now. She grabbed Colby's arm. "We could **arrest Alan**, just to get him out of there. I doubt he'd sue for false arrest!"

Colby started to grin, then faltered when David joined in. "But if she has Don and Charlie," he said, "how can we tell what she will do to them after we get Alan?"

"How can we tell she hasn't done something already?", countered Colby. He looked at Megan. "What's going on down there, besides Alan's car being on the property?"

"It's pretty quiet," she answered. "Looks like your basic ranch, greenhouse in the back. I saw the door open once, but I think she just let the cat out."

"We don't even know Don and Charlie are there," pointed out David.

Colby looked at the sky, then the ground. "Couple of hours of daylight left," he said. "If they are there, they're not spending another night."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………

Rosa unlocked the door, looked at Alan. "Is everything all right?"

All right? He and his sons — three grown men, one of them an FBI agent — were being held by a woman who hadn't seen sanity in years, and she wanted to know if everything was all right? Alan considered just lunging from the chair at her, maybe she couldn't get the rifle in firing position before he hit her.

But if she did, if he was wounded…there would be no one to keep her standing on the edge of that cliff; her toes were hanging off, already.

He looked again at the monitors, saw that Charlie was awake and leaning against the wall, again. Don was standing under the source of light in the room — a skylight? — looking up. Alan turned back to his hostess.

"Rosa," he said quietly. "Sit down with me. Tell me about David."

The change in her was electrifying, and Alan feared he had made a horrible mistake. She lifted the rifle to firing position. "I will not," she hissed. "He was mine. You don't know, you can't know…" Her face changed again. "But you will. It's only fair."

Now Alan knew he had made a horrible mistake. "No, Rosa, please, I'm sorry", he pleaded frantically, "you're right. I was wrong to ask, please…"

She circled around behind him, never lowering the rifle. "It's all right," she said, in a tone meant to sooth, a tone that nearly killed Alan all by itself. "It will make us closer. It will give us something to share….Stand up, now."

"Rosa, please, darling…"

"SHUT UP! SHUT UP! Go, now, you know the way."

Alan stood, tried to stall for time. "We're going to see the boys again?"

She poked the gun into his ribs, hard, and he flinched. "Walk." While Alan turned and started for the room he had visited earlier, she kept talking. "It's because I love you. It's all because I love you." He heard her voice behind him change, she was almost pleading herself now, as if _he_ were making _her_ do this. "I'll prove it, Alan. I'll give you something I never had. A choice. You can decide who."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………

Don wished there was a way to communicate with Charlie that didn't involve their voices, which was basically all they had. Too bad they didn't both know sign language. He sighed, looking up at the skylight. That would show up on the video. And it's not like he had any secret plan to convey, anyway.

"Come and sit down," he heard Charlie say. "I'll teach you the Fibonacci sequence."

Don crossed the few feet to the mattress and lowered himself to the edge. "If you try," he said, "I will wait until your nose heals and then break it again."

Charlie snorted, a sound that ended in a strangled yelp. His hand flew to his face. "I think you just did," he said from behind it.

"Sorry," Don smiled. He shifted his feet restlessly. "We have got to do something," he said. "She's just one woman."

Charlie lowered his hand and looked at Don. "With the strength of a thousand demons in her head…and our father at the end of her rifle."

Don leaped up again. "This is insane," he said, glaring at Charlie. But his brother just looked at him, a little sadly, he thought, and spoke to him gently.

"You're right Don. Insanity is a fairly accurate description."


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

Colby and David faced Megan. "So the plan is, you ran out of gas, need a telephone," started Colby.

"Just try to get in the house, assess the situation," continued David. "If Mr. Eppes sees you, and Rosa is the threat we think she is, he won't expose you. He may even be able to give you some information."

"But you try nothing on your own," Colby added. "This is recognizance. We could 'Rock-Paper-Scissors" for it or something…"

"No," Megan said, "I think she's more likely to trust a woman who shows up in the middle of nowhere unannounced." She handed her cell, badge, and weapon to David. "Keep an eye on these for me?"

"Only for five minutes, Megan, only for five minutes," he answered. "After that they're your responsibility again."

She smiled, grimly. "Right," she said, and headed for Rosa Marimot's driveway.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………

This time when the door opened, Alan stumbled in before either of his sons could react. Don whipped around where he was standing, and Charlie looked up from the mattress five feet away from his brother.

"Have you thought about it?" Rosa asked, prodding Alan with the muzzle of the rifle.

Don unconsciously took a step forward, but Rosa's screech stopped him.

"CHOOSE! CHOOSE! CHOOSE!" Even over her voice, they all heard the round chamber in the rifle.

Alan was crying. "I can't Rosa," he sobbed, "I won't. You'll have to kill me before I will tell you to kill one of my sons."

Don and Charlie both paled, and for a moment the only sound in the room was Rosa's harsh breathing. Just as Don decided that she was out of control enough to risk a frontal assault, he heard Charlie's voice.

"Me. It should be me, Dad."

Alan and Don both turned their faces to him, stunned. "Charlie…", began Don, but Charlie was struggling to his feet.

"Don't you see?" He was looking at his father, locking his eyes with his. "It has to be me. Don is the strong one, Don can help you…after. I wouldn't be able to do that. If Don…if Don dies, Dad, I'll die, too. I couldn't face it here without him."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………

She could see David in him. If he had lived, her solemn child, he would have been like Charlie. Even at two, everyone remarked on his intelligence, his gentle heart.

Alan wasn't going to be able to choose, she could see that. She aimed the rifle at Don. If she chose Don for Alan, then they could keep Charlie…

She redirected toward Charlie. If they kept him, though, she could never look at him without seeing David, without feeling again all the pain, all the loss, the paralyzing of her very blood…

How had this all gone wrong? They were going to be a family. She had planned for so long for them to be a family. Now Alan was sobbing in front of her, she was trying to decide which boy she had to lose…

Her face lost all expression. _That's it, I understand now. It's a test. G-d will give me back David, like He gave Isaac back to Abraham. I just have to give him up willingly this time._

The round already chambered, she sighted a kill shot to the heart, pulled all her energy and concentration into the trigger…

…………………………………………………………………………………………………

Don saw her make her decision. He saw it on her face, and it was reflected on his. Alan saw that, and without thinking, without hesitation, pressed himself backwards into her, throwing off her balance, and then his, sending them both to the floor. Her shock gave him the time he needed to twist around to face her, get his hands on the rifle…

…………………………………………………………………………………………………

She didn't understand at first what had happened. She saw Charlie slam back the few inches he had been standing from the wall, slide down it, smearing blood. Saw the blossoming crimson on his shoulder. Her aim could not have been that far off. Not since she was 12 had her aim been that far off. Then she was on the floor, staring up at Alan…at least, she thought it was Alan, but she'd never seen his face look like this. He was trying to tear her beautiful rifle from her hands, and she was struggling, nearly had control when Don was there too, and then it was all over. The two of them together ripped it from her easily, left her curling into a fetal position on the floor…

…………………………………………………………………………………………………

Megan heard the shot, threw herself behind Alan's car. Was someone shooting at her? Colby and David heard the shot, burst out of the trees and crossed the clearing to her, without cover, expecting to die any second. The three of them breathed heavily, looked at each other, saw that no one was hit. Realization hit them all at once. Someone in the house had been shot.

"That's probable cause, damn it," spat out David, shoved Megan's weapon back in her hand. "We're going in."


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

Don could hear yelling, banging on a far-away door. He recognized Colby's voice, felt something. Was it relief that the team was finally there? Was it anger that they hadn't come earlier? He got to his feet, rifle in his hand, pulled Alan up and shoved it at him. "Watch her."

He turned to Charlie, then, saw his brother half-sitting, half-lying on the floor. Saw the blood. He saw the blood. Don looked around frantically. He had already used both the sheets, all the gauze…finally he just crossed the distance between them, dropped to his knees and buried his hand in Charlie's t-shirt, over the stain on his shoulder. His brother moved slightly, moaned, but did not open his eyes. The only eyes Don felt on him were Alan's, watching from across the room.

He heard several shots, jumped at the same time that he figured someone must be shooting a lock off the door. As if in verification, he heard their voices growing closer.

"Don!" "Charlie!" "Where are you?"

"Here!" shouted Alan, and he kept shouting it until they appeared at the door that used to be a wall. Megan stepped in quickly, pried the rifle from Alan, trained her weapon on the woman on the floor.

Don could hear David requesting EMT service and back-up, saying there was an officer down.

Good. He was an officer. He was down on the floor, his brother's blood pooling over his hands.

"Found this in the bathroom." Colby was trying to move Don's hands to place a towel on the wound, but Don wasn't moving. With his hands, he could feel Charlie's heart beating, and he wasn't moving.

"We're out pretty far," he heard David saying. "Should we take him in ourselves?"

He didn't answer, because that would require energy directed elsewhere.

"My car is in the driveway," he heard his father say next, "but…but she took my keys, I don't have the keys…" His father's voice was taking on an edge of panic.

Don felt David's hand brush his back, felt the other man stand up. "I'm going for our car," he said. "Colby, Megan, you got things covered here?"

"Go," Megan said, and Colby just nodded. Then David was gone.

Don looked again at Charlie's face, couldn't stand the paleness and refocused on his shoulder. Vaguely, he wondered when he had gotten a third hand…squeezed his eyes shut, opened them again to realize that his father was beside him, one hand next to his on Charlie's shoulder, the other brushing curls out of his face.

They stayed there forever. The three of them — Don, Colby and Alan — leaning over Charlie. Megan standing over Rosa. They stayed there forever, and no one said a word. They listened to Charlie breathe.

Colby and Megan took in the room, the mattresses on the floor, the groove of the receding wall, the bucket of human waste in the corner. Colby saw the camera hanging from the ceiling then, whispered, "Shit."

Then David burst back in, panting, leading two EMTs. "Met 'em on the road," he said. "There's a rural fire station out here."

It took all of them — except Megan, who watched from her stance over Rosa — to pull Don off Charlie. Once that had been accomplished, and the medics had set to work with their needles and tubes and lines, speaking quietly to each other in what Don was sure was another language, his adrenaline surge began to wane. Colby and David steadied him as his knees wobbled, then Colby gently absorbed some of Charlie's blood off his hands with the unused towel. He tried to find Don's eyes, but they were glued on the scene playing out on the floor. "You ok?"

More bodies were bumping him. Sherrif's deputies. When had they gotten here? Don would not be swayed again, tore his eyes from Charlie long enough to burn his gaze into Colby.

"Get us out of here," he ordered.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Don and Alan sat silent. Alan looked again at his son. "Please," he begged. "You should let them look at you."

At least this time Don answered, though he didn't return Alan's gaze. "I'm fine."

Megan was with them, but Colby and David were still processing the house…the crime scene. Rosa had required another ambulance, and lay catatonic in the same Emergency Room where Charlie was being treated. She tried to broker a comprimise. "Later?" It was a question. "After you've talked to someone about Charlie?"

She thought she saw Don nod slightly, let it go at that.

"I'm so sorry."

This time Don looked at Alan. The older man's eyes welled with tears. "I should have known…"

Don remembered Charlie's words: _Don is the strong one, Don can help you…_ His brother had believed that, had trusted him to be there for their father.

"You couldn't", he finally said, gently, this time looking Alan in the eye. "You couldn't."

"But I've known her for over a year! Spent hours talking with her…"

"Dad. Stop. Stop." Don was glad someone — who? Megan, maybe — had at least gotten him to leave the waiting area long enough to wash his hands, and now he placed one on the ones his father was clutching tightly together in his lap. "You saved us. If you hadn't convinced her that it could be real, what she…what she planned…" A tear dropped from Alan's chin, falling onto their hands. "You're the victim, here, Dad. You did nothing wrong." Don continued to look at Alan, who gave him a sad little smile, shook his head. He unclenched his hands long enough to grasp Don's, and Don let him have it for a while, squeezing to let him know they were connected.

Alan altered the line of conversation, but it was no easier where he took them. "Why would he do that? Why would he say those things?"

Megan didn't know what they were talking about, didn't know what Charlie had done, or said, but she looked at their faces and felt the fear of finding out tickle her blood.

Don shook his head, looked at the floor. "I wish I knew."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

"My name is Dr. Anderson." He shook the hand of the older man facing him in the hallway. "I'm the ER attending here."

"My son?"

"Considering what I know of all your son has been through the last few days, he's a remarkably lucky young man."

"He'll be all right?" Don was almost afraid to ask.

"I believe so," the doctor answered, and the older man smiled, while the younger frowned at the floor. The woman edged closer to hear. "Don't misunderstand me. He's very sick right now. He's being prepped for surgery…"

Alan blanched. "Surgery?"

"It's necessary to debride the GSW."

Now Alan was frowning, and the doctor indicated the chairs behind them. After they had all sat, he continued. "I'm sorry. Gun shot wound. The surgery will debride the wound, check for any brachial artery or obvious nerve involvement,although from what we can see it's a clean through-and-through . It did some major muscle and soft tissue damage — he's looking as months of physical therapy, and perhaps will still have diminished use of that arm. How well he tolerates the pain will indicate if any further surgery is necessary."

"But he'll live," Alan stated, and smiled at Megan, who smiled back.

"There are complications," the doctor continued, and Don stood up again.

"He's been sick," he said. "He was hurt in the accident, too."

Alan's smile faded, and Dr. Anderson nodded. "I understand that. He's going into this, a traumatic enough injury on its own, with an infection. His white blood cell count is dangerously low. He's also dehydrated." He looked at Don. "If you were in the same place he was the last few days, we need to check you out for that as well."

Don shook his head with impatience. "What else?", he said.

"The wound to the right arm has already had a debridement here in the ER, been cleaned out and stitched. Of course, he's been placed on IV antibiotics, and will stay on them for at least a week. We're also using saline to replace some of his lost fluids, and he will possibly need a unit of blood before this surgery is over."

"His foot? Nose?" Don asked.

"Not fractured," the doctor answered, "either one of them. Considerable soft tissue damage to the foot, but by the time he wants to use it again he should be able to. The septum of his nasal cavity did separate, which often feels like a broken nose. We will tape it for a few weeks."

Alan looked at Don. "How did he do all of these things? In the accident?"

"Most of it," Don shrugged, still looking at the doctor. "I punched him in the nose."

Alan was aghast. _"What?"_

Don looked over at him briefly. "I'll tell you later." He looked back at the doctor. "So he'll be in surgery for how long?"

"An hour or two, then in recovery for a while. It will be at least three hours before you can see him." Dr. Anderson studied Don, saw him sag a little. "You might as well spend it with me," he offered, and Don at last allowed himself to be led to an exam room.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: _mein harz, mein lebn_ is Yiddish for "My Heart, My Life"; _mein yingi_ is Yiddish for "My Boy"**

**Chapter 18**

It was an oddly pleasant sensation, floating.

Not quite in contact with his own body.

Except for the cold. The freezing cold liquid running through him.

And the freezing cold liquid was bringing him awake, making him aware of other things.

For instance, he heard someone moaning.

And another thing. His shoulder was on fire and someone was twisting a knife in the middle of it. Tendrils of agony shot all the way into his hand.

He didn't really need that arm. He would just take it off. If he could just manage to find his other one…

G-d.

G-d, please.

It had to stop, but instead, it seemed to grow steadily worse. He had to get away from it, before it killed him.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

He didn't know where to look.

One son half-lay in a chair, so exhausted that despite his intentions to the contrary, he slept.

The other lay bruised and broken in a hospital bed. With his nose taped, his right arm bandaged, his left shoulder swathed in an acre of white, an IV line into each hand and his left foot sporting an ace wrap, it was hard to know for sure that he was actually in there.

He stood between them. Charlie moaned in his sleep, and Alan automatically reached a hand out to sooth him, but didn't know where to put it.

Finally he rested it on the bed's side rail. He heard himself speak, and it surprised him. There was no one to listen.

"Charlie…Charlie… **_mein harz, mein lebn _**…what have I done to you? How have I made you feel that I love or need your brother any more than I do you?"

The hand strayed out again of its own accord, found its home in the soft and familiar curls.

"Perhaps, since your mother died," he mused, "I have come to lean too heavily on Don. His strength was such a comfort…but I never meant for it to seem as if…as if…"

He smoothed his son's brow.

"It is the father's job to lead his children. Not to burden them with too much, or cripple them with too little… **_mein yingi, _**how can you not know what you are to me? That without you, even Don's strength would not be enough to cause me to draw another breath? I would not survive the loss of either of you. I could not choose between you, even when Rosa… How is it that you think I already have?"

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Don was careful not to move, not to breathe. He wanted to listen to his father's soft voice, wanted to feel the words sink in, wanted to know, the way he knew that he needed oxygen, wanted to **_know_** that he could let his guard down, just for a moment. He wanted to be the child, again. He needed to be the son.

He missed his mother so much…and he had known that it would be worse for his father, so he just did it. He applied his tough older brother, tough FBI agent persona to them. He had always protected Charlie. His mother died, and he had to protect his father as well.

_Unless…listen. Hear the words. Maybe I can be the son again. Just for a moment, just until I'm not so tired…_


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19 Don could not bring himself to persuade his father to go home. When Dr. Gregory, the trauma surgeon who had performed Charlie's procedure, made his final rounds that evening, he found them both in the room.  
He nodded, checked the notations on Charlie's chart, looked carefully at his patient. Then he turned, looking at his watch.  
"It's almost 8 p.m.," he said to them. "He's out for the night. Hospital policy - you are, too"  
Alan started to protest. "But"  
The doctor began to herd them, as if they were stray cattle. "He's not in any danger," he said. "There is nothing you can do here"  
Still, Don kept his mouth closed. His father started to look at him, seemed to stop himself; deflate. He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck, straightened, looked the doctor in the eye. "My other son," he said, "I need to take my other son home. He needs rest. Our emergency contact numbers are on your chart"  
The doctor checked. "Yes, home phone, cell phones...but as I said, Charlie's not in any danger"  
Don kept hearing those words, as he allowed his father to take his arm and lead him from the room. "Charlie's not in any danger." Megan had come back, was waiting in the hall to drive them home. Sitting in the back of her car, head back, he still heard them...and he knew that they weren't true. Somehow, he and his father had let Charlie fall into the greatest danger of all. Two years after his mother's death, two years that passed as slowly as forever and as quickly as yesterday, two years after Don had physically pried him away from his garage blackboards filled with numbers and dragged him, he thought, back into their lives...two years later, Charlie could look at a crazy woman holding him at gunpoint, and ask to die.  
Charlie was not out of danger.  
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX The next morning in the bullpen, Colby looked up, saw Don and Alan step from the elevator. "Heads up," he said and David and Megan followed his gaze.  
Megan stood, walked to meet them. "How are you this morning?", she said to them both, but she was looking at Don. He had on his work face. "Good," he said shortly, kept walking. "Let's go the conference room. Tell us what you've got"  
The group made their way into the conference room, and sat around the large table. David looked at Alan. "Charlie"  
"I called the hospital before we came. They said he had as good a night as could be expected..." He looked uncertainly at Megan. "I'm not sure what that means"  
"We're going right there as soon as we hear what you've got," Don interrupted impatiently.  
Megan met his eyes. "You've both had breakfast"  
He sighed, rolled his eyes. "Oatmeal. Now what did you find out? This lady just fixated on my Dad over a copy of 'Moby Dick' and morphed into...into...I don't even know what"  
"No, it was a longer road than that," Colby answered, opening a file. "Apparently Rosa Marimot lost a child almost 30 years ago. Her husband divorced her. She became progressively reclusive after that. She was very self-contained out on that property. She's lived there for years, but people in the same area hadn't even met her"  
"Why did she join a book club, then?", asked Alan.  
"Obviously something served as a catalyst," Megan said. "If I had to guess, which I do, since she's still catatonic, I'd say it was the upcoming 30th birthday of that child. Somehow she convinced herself that she could get him back, or a reasonable substitute. Maybe she thought if she could prove herself as a mother, her husband would come back"  
Don shuddered, held up a hand. "Stop guessing." The three agents and his father all looked at him. He looked back, knew he could never explain something he didn't understand himself. "Anything else"  
"Well..." Colby was still looking at Don, but dropped his eyes to the file again. "A search of the property didn't turn up much you don't know about. The room, the rifle...the cat..." He looked back at Don. "Except"  
"What?" Don watched Colby's face.  
"When we were looking for you, we went over the cases of other people reported missing in that area in the last six months. We tied Rosa Marimot's name to a carpenter, still missing. One of the things our CSI guys took samples of was the fertilizer in the greenhouse. They figured it was some kind of home manufactured stuff, because it was packed in plain burlap bags." Colby stopped talking for a moment, looked at David.  
He took pity on the other man and took over the narration.  
"There are human bone fragments in it." He let that sink in. "They're trying to get enough for DNA," he added, "but even if they do, we may not be able to get anything of the missing carpenter's to compare it with; he went missing four months ago, his apartment has been cleaned out and rented again"  
"But one thing we know for sure," Colby took over the report again, "is that part of that fertilizer used to be human." He looked again at a photo in front of him. "Pretty impressive tomatoes, though"  
All three agents looked at Alan in surprise when they heard him groan, saw him turn green and press a hand to his mouth. "Mr. Eppes?" Megan touched his arm lightly. "Are you all right? Do you need some water"  
He stood. "I think air is more in order," he answered, looked briefly at Don. "I'll wait for you outside." When he reached the door of the conference room, he turned around again to face the agents. "Thank you," he said softly. "I want to thank you all"  
"You're sure you're all right?" Megan half-stood, but he waved her back down. "Yes, yes. I just need some air"  
"Should someone go with him?", David asked Don as the door closed behind Alan.  
"I'm going," Megan said, and followed Alan out the door.  
"What happened? What did I say?" Colby seemed genuinely concerned, and Don stood up as well, walked slowly to a window.  
"I stayed with him at the house last night," he began. "When we got there, I found a jar of home-canned tomatoes on the kitchen table. He said they were from Rosa"  
"Shit," Colby breathed, while David uttered an anxious, "He didn't eat any, did he"  
"No, he's allergic to tomatoes. And when he told me where they were from..." Don turned around to face his friends again. "I threw the jar against a wall. Shattered it." David and Colby were silent as Don walked back to the table, sat down.  
"We spent the next half hour," he continued, "cleaning up glass, and washing your carpenter off our walls." XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Alan had been anxious to reach Charlie again, but his son still lay in much the same position as he had left him. He looked at his face for a moment, touched the part of arm he could access, and wandered to the window, leaving Don standing at the end of the bed.  
"She didn't hurt you?" It was almost a whisper, but Don heard it. "No, Dad. At least she kept us together"  
Alan turned, the light at his back as he faced Don. "I've hurt you, though." He held up his hand to stop his son's protests. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I let you take on so much, these last few years"  
"Dad..." Don felt the tears pressing at the back of his eyes. "I wanted to be there for you. I want to, now"  
Alan walked back toward his son. "I will always need you, Donnie. You will always be my boy, no matter how old either one of us gets." He stood directly in front of Don, now. "But maybe it's time," he said, softly. "Maybe it's time for me to work a little harder at standing on my own, again"  
His hand was on the back of Don's head, buried in his hair...like Charlie's had been once, in the room, Don remembered...and he let his head be drawn to his father's shoulder. He didn't plan it, he didn't think about it, he didn't know how long it had been going on...he just knew that he and his father had their arms around each other, when they both heard a stirring from Charlie's bed.  
Like Keystone Kops they tripped over each other's feet as they rushed to the head of the bed. Don saw Charlie struggling to open his eyes, moving his head on the pillow. "Wake up, Buddy," he encouraged, while he saw his father's hand on Charlie's brow, heard his father murmur, "Come on, Son, wake up, now"  
Slits. The eyes were open slits. It looked like he was trying not to breathe too deeply, as if he didn't want to risk moving his shoulder. His brother swallowed, painfully it seemed, and his father's voice commanded, "Give him some water." Don carefully lifted Charlie's head off the pillow, but still his brother groaned. He placed the straw in Charlie's mouth, and he sipped weakly. Don placed his head gently back on the pillow, returned the glass to the bedside table. He looked back at Charlie, and his eyes were opened wider now. Don was not sure that was a good thing, because his brother's eyes, always so expressive, seemed almost black with pain.  
Charlie swallowed again, more easily this time, looked at Don. "Please," he whispered.  
Don looked over at his father. "Do you think he means 'thank you"  
Alan shook his head in confusion, and they heard the door open behind them. A nurse was soon as their side.  
"Good morning, Dr. Eppes! How long have you been with us"  
Alan looked at her. "Just now, he just woke up"  
Charlie was still looking at Don. "Please," he said again.  
"That's all he's said," Don looked at the nurse helplessly. She reached for Charlie's IV bag, raised a syringe to the port. "He's probably needing this," she offered. "It's morphine"  
Don looked back at Charlie and saw both recognition there and something else...a hope like one he hadn't seen since his brother was seven years old, and was reaching eagerly over the table to accept a birthday gift from his mother. "Please," Charlie said again, and closed his eyes.  
The nurse finished with the syringe, capped it, leaned over Charlie. "What does he love?" she asked softly. "Numbers," said Don, while his father offered, "Hiking? He went to a state park in Oregon last summer, brought back beautiful pictures of waterfalls"  
"Charlie," she said, more loudly this time. "Listen to the roar of the water. Remember the feeling of walking behind the falls, catching the mist on your face...In between the falls, the woods were dark, smelled earthy, were silent and noisy all at the same time...Can you hear the birds? Can you see them flitting from tree to tree"  
Don watched his brother's forehead smooth, saw his breathing become more regular, knew he was sleeping again.  
The nurse straightened, smiled at Alan and Don. "Silver Falls. I've been there myself"  
"Thank you," Alan breathed, as she walked to the wall to the sharps container.  
"When he's a little more alert, later today, we'll put him on a PCA," she said. "Patient-controlled analgesia. He can administer his own morphine as the pain becomes too much." She stopped at Alan, patting him on the arm. "Don't worry, he can't overdose. The PCA is strictly regulated, but it should keep him more comfortable overall, and he won't have to wait for a nurse who's...", she looked at her watch, "20 minutes late"  
"I appreciate that," Alan said, and she smiled again and left them alone with Charlie. 


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Don smiled at the FBI shrink, his most charming smile. "So of course," he tried to make his voice convincing, "it's been very trying for us all. Especially my father and Charlie."

"Why especially them?"

"I've seen this sort of thing before," Don explained. "I've been an agent for several years. I know the kind of sicknesses that are out there, seen the kind of damage people can cause."

"But you have never been the victim, before, Agent Eppes."

Don tried to maintain his smile, lost it when the doctor added, "...or your family."

He shifted uncomfortably, didn't answer.

"In fact," the doctor was scribbling something on the paper in front of him. "I think that might make it even more difficult for you. You assume your status as an FBI agent somehow insulates you, or at least places you in a position to fight back. The helplessness of those two days must have been quite overwhelming."

"42 hours."

The doctor looked up. "Excuse me?"

"42 hours," Don repeated. "That's as close as we can narrow it down, anyway."

The doctor put down his pen, leaned back in his chair. "So you've thought about this."

"Of course I've thought about this! My brother is still in the hospital, my father is afraid of every woman who smiles at him, I'm..." Don stopped himself. This sort of behavior was not going to get him back on the job.

"You're what?", the doctor pressed.

Screw it. Maybe he didn't belong back on the job. "I'm questioning...everything. What kind of son am I? What kind of brother? What kind of agent?"

The doctor picked up his pen again, began to tap it gently on the desk. "And have you found any answers?"

Don looked past him, over his shoulder. "I have only found more questions," he admitted.

Several moments passed in silence. The doctor leaned forward, started scribbling again. "Your father and brother are receiving counseling?"

"Not officially. My Dad has been talking with his rabbi a lot, some with the profiler on my team...she's a friend of the family."

"And your brother?"

Don shifted again. "I don't think so. The hospital sent someone in, but he's still in a lot of pain. My Dad said Charlie doesn't want to talk, much."

"Have the two of you spoken of your ordeal?"

Don looked at the floor. "Not really. I, uh, that is..." He ran his hand through his hair, picked imaginary lint from his jeans. "I haven't really seen him in two days."

The doctor's eyebrows shot up. "Really?"

"I've been there," Don hastened to point out. "He sleeps a lot. I leave him notes, but I can't just stay there and watch him sleep, not like..."

"Not like you had to before, when you were abducted?"

Don nodded his head, miserable. "I feel badly about that. My Dad feels like he has to divide his time between us."

"And you're responsible for how your father feels?"

Don sighed. "I'm just responsible. Period."

"Agent. Most people are dealing with something personal. It begins to become a danger on the job when you depersonalize it...when every female suspect, for instance, becomes this woman."

"Not much chance of that," Don said. "I think she was pretty unique. Even by my experience."

The doctor smiled slightly. "I'm going to allow you back on the job, because I haven't heard anything I wouldn't expect to hear after a situation like this."

Don started to smile, but the doctor held his hand up.

"Which is not - I repeat, not - to say you're ready for field action yet. You can work support, and I am going to recommend weekly counseling with someone in my department during that time, with a re-evaluation in one month."

Don frowned.

"It's the best offer you're getting, Agent Eppes."

Don thought. Considering how honest he'd been, he was probably getting off lucky. He stood to leave, shook the doctor's hand - and his luck ran out.

"One more thing. It's in writing," the doctor indicated the paper he'd been scribbling on. "You and your brother talk. Until you can report that you have done that, I will not consider field duty." 


	21. Chapter 21

A/N: I am having trouble uploading Word documents and am settling for text. Sorry for the lack of clear breaks and editing (bolds, italics, et cetera).

X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X

Chapter 21

Day Four. Don shook his head as he walked into the hospital room. He should probably be surprised it took this long.

The head of Charlie's bed was raised so that he was sitting. He was tiredly lifting his right hand, poking at some keys on the laptop that was on...well, on his lap top. Larry leaned over slightly from the chair, so that he could see the screen. "Charles," he intoned as he rapidly pushed a few keys of his own. "You're not concentrating. Checkmate. That's two games already. It usually takes us days to play one - and I don't believe I've ever won two consecutively."

Charlie pressed his head into the pillow. "Larry," he said, showing what Don thought was admirable patience, "I'm in the hospital. I was shot. Don tried to break my nose. I was in a car accident. I was kidnapped. Oh. And I've had a cold. Take your pick."

Larry closed the laptop and lifted it to the bedside table, standing. "Of course. Don! It's good to see you," he continued as Don reached the bedside. "You may take this chair. I was just leaving."

Charlie's head shot off the pillow so quickly that he winced. "Larry, I didn't mean that you have to go."

"Not at all, not at all," responded his friend. "You need your rest. I have a faculty meeting soon, myself. I must get back to campus." He looked at Don again as he held the chair out to him. "Is is good to see you. I was concerned for you both."  
"

"Thanks, Larry."

"You'll contact me, if either of you requires anything before my scheduled return tomorrow?"

Don hid a smile. "Sure, Larry, thanks." Charlie, whose head was back on the pillow, eyes closed again, simply lifted his hand in acknowledgement.

Don watched Larry leave, took the chair and checked to make sure Charlie wasn't asleep already. "So where's Dad?"

"Probably not at his book club."

In spite of himself Don laughed, and Charlie opened his eyes to look at him and grin. "He left to do errands when Larry got here. He'll be back for evening visiting hours, if I know him."

Don looked around the bed. "Where's your PCA?"

"Took it away this morning. Trying to control pain with oral medication, now."

Don was surprised. "Already?"

Charlie shifted in the bed, wincing again, used his right hand on the controls to lower the bed a little. "It's been four days." He looked at Don again a little guiltily. "And I asked them to."

"Charlie..." Don didn't even finish. What was the point? He shifted his feet.

"I'm hoping to lose the IV antibiotics tomorrow. My red blood cell count is almost normal."

"That's good. Amazing what a few days of sleep and a couple of million dollars' worth of medical science will do."

Charlie grinned. "I want to go home. I think that's what Dad's doing, getting everthing ready."

Don stood. He wasn't sure why, he just stood. "He feels badly, you know."

Charlie looked up at him, his face confused. "Why?"

"All of it, I suppose. But mostly what...what you said, what you did."

Charlie looked away. "I...It just came out. I was sick, terrified, trying to distract her."

Don sat down again. "What we do or say in a crisis is perhaps the truest barometer of who we are," he said.

That got Charlie to look at him again. "What? Where did you hear that?"

Don grinned. "Had to go to the department shrink yesterday."

Charlie smiled, laid his head back on the pillow again. When he closed his eyes, Don knew he had to finish this before he lost out to sleep. "I was there," he said, softly. "I saw your face. It was more than that."

Charlie turned his head toward Don, opened his eyes. He didn't say anything for so long that Don had decided he wasn't going to. Finally, he heard his brother's voice.

"222."

Now that he had not expected. "What?"

Charlie's eyes were still open, but he was looking at the ceiling now, seeing something Don didn't know was there. "The pattern of her blouse. There were tiny dots interspersed among various geometric shapes. I could only see about half of the front of her, because of Dad, and...and the rifle...but I could see 37 dots. That includes the sleeves. If the pattern was consistent, there were 37 more I couldn't see, 37 on each side, 74 on the back. There were 222 dots on her blouse."

Don was glad he had sat down again, because his legs probably wouldn't hold him right now.

His brother, still looking at the ceiling, continued. "When I realized that I knew that, I knew what I had to do." He looked at Don, then. "I felt myself getting lost in the numbers, again. I knew that if she killed you, it would be like after Mom died, I would fall into my own head, and this time there would be no one to pull me out. Dad would not just lose one son. He would lose us both. With what he's already lost, that would probably kill him. So it was three lives, or one. Simple math, Don. Even you should be able to do it."

Don stared at his brother.

"Also..." Charlie turned his head back, closed his eyes again. "Also, I was more afraid of the numbers than I was of dying."

"Charlie." He didn't really know what to say, or how to say it. "Maybe you should talk to someone about that?"

"I have," Charlie answered. "I just talked to you."

"You know what I mean," Don answered. "Someone professional."

Charlie's voice was fading, Don knew he was about to lose him. "I have thought about it," his brother finally admitted, "but it would take an awfully good 'professional' to convince me that I am wrong, to love you. To love Dad." He forced himself to open his eyes again, meet Don's. "That's what's at the core of this whole thing, Don, don't you see? It's not some issue of low self-esteem. It's just love." His eyes slid shut again, and this time Don knew he had fallen asleep.

He watched his brother sleep for a while, then stood and walked to the window.

He crossed one arm over his chest, propped the other vertically on it so that he could hold his chin in one hand.

Maybe Charlie was right.

Maybe it was as simple as love, as complicated as love, as frightening as love.

He looked toward the bed again, thought about the terror of being in that room, the anxiety of Charlie being hurt, and sick, the horror of seeing his father victimized as well. If he had been on that case as an agent, would he have felt those things? Compassion, sure, but still, detachment. What made the difference was love.

Maybe Charlie was right.

X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X

Finis

Stay tuned for further traumas in the life of Charles Eppes, the unluckiest genius in the universe.


End file.
